


A Day Outside the Hub is like a Month in Hell Inside

by usakiwigirl



Series: Redisourcolor Challenges 2011 [5]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: Episode: s04e12 The Stolen Earth, Episode: s04e13 Journey's End, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-13
Updated: 2012-01-13
Packaged: 2017-10-29 11:12:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/319256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/usakiwigirl/pseuds/usakiwigirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During the time-lock, Ianto and Gwen hatch a plan that may help them escape the Dalek if, or when, the time-lock fails.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Day Outside the Hub is like a Month in Hell Inside

**Author's Note:**

> Challenge 16 - apocalypse theme - end of the world as we know it; nonplus, table-lamp, mucilaginous; 'what we need is a (insert item of choice here)'

Gwen looked at Ianto, completely nonplussed after his impassioned, and uncharacteristically long, explanation.

“I’m sorry, pet. I don’t get it. Go over it again, please?” Her eyes were huge as she looked up at him.

He dragged in a deep breath, determined to keep his temper under control. It wouldn’t do to piss her off this early into a situation that might last days, perhaps even longer.

“We’re in a time-lock, yeah?” He waited while she nodded. That part was easy, what with Tosh’s programme screaming at them from the computer screens, not to mention the bullets hanging in the air, defying gravity, directly in front of the motionless Dalek.

"We have no idea how long we’re going to be stuck like this. We should use this time to disable the Dalek.” As plans went, it was fairy simple, at least on the surface.

“But we can’t touch it, Ianto. It’s caught on the outside of the time-lock - and we can’t disable that, or we’re dead.”

“Yep. But we can set something up that would work as soon as the time-lock stops. It might give us enough time to get around it and get out. Worth a shot, yeah?”

He could see the cogs of Gwen’s brain turning. She wasn’t a stupid woman, but this situation had thrown her a bit off keel. He saw the exact moment the light switched turned on.

“Soo…,” She sounded enough like Jack as she dragged out the word that he felt his stomach drop and his heart stutter. It really was amazing how alike the two of them were. “…what exactly do you have in mind? You do have a plan, don’t you Ianto?”

“Yep. One of Owen’s plants secretes a mucilaginous substance that he swore was better than any superglue. I don’t know how, but we could rig something to fall over the Dalek, so its mechanisms freeze up - maybe a layer on the ground so it can’t move, either.” He shrugged one shoulder. “It’s better than standing in front of it with a bloody great target on our chests.”

“It’s brilliant, Ianto. Let’s do it.”

\----------

Of course, it was easier said than done. Trial and error taught them that yes, the sticky, viscid substance did indeed work better than superglue, but not, to their everlasting relief, on biological substances. It could well have been the straw that broke them, had they been unable to separate themselves. They were, for a short while, stuck together from hip to shoulder, slightly off centre, with their hands caught in odd and uncomfortable positions. Their relief upon release from the bond was palpable, with both of them dropping the project and heading off to different areas of the Hub to recover.

Ianto had, with all the courtesy he could muster, offered Gwen the camp bed in Jack’s bunker when they realised that their forced imprisonment was going to last a little longer than they had first hoped. With more than a small amount of relief, she had turned him down, opting instead to sleep on the sofa in Jack’s office. They both knew the reasons behind her decision, but neither said anything. In honesty, Ianto was rather glad that there was still one piece of Jack that was just his, with no taint of PC Cooper to mar the associated memories.

He flipped over, from back to stomach, the sheet slipping down and revealing the expanse of his back. His hand shot out to switch off the table-lamp that was glaring in his eyes, as he let his memory dredge up images of all the times he’d slept - or not - in this very bed with Jack. His feet hanged off the end, his elbow frequently caught either the concrete wall or the little side table, yet he felt lost in a sea of space without Jack there to hold him.

After a week trapped in the Hub, their project was moving along slowly as they collected enough material to lay their gluey trap. He found a store of dried military rations, which meant that food wasn’t an issue, and they were both very happy when they learnt that somehow, someway, water still flowed freely into the Hub. Bathrooms - and all the requisite functions therein - still worked, and they were not short of fresh hydration. Milk, yes. Gwen was slowly learning to drink her coffee black.

After the fourth night, Ianto had also broken into Jack’s stash of whisky. Not knowing how long their forced confinement would be, he was somewhat stingy with the rations, only allowing a finger to be shared between them each night, but at least it was something. It was a ritual, of sorts, a way to end the day, before he dropped down into the bunker and Gwen climbed under the blankets on the sofa.

Clothing was a bit of an issue, as although Ianto had three suits hanging in Jack’s closet, plus shirts and underwear, Gwen only had one change of shirt and trousers, with no fresh knickers. She had taken to washing them by hand at night, laying them out to dry in the communal showers. Ianto broke into Jack’s store of replacement clothing and loaned - gave - her a pair of brand new boxers, never worn, as well as a new vest, so that she had something to sleep in. It was petty, he knew, but he couldn’t stomach the idea of her sleeping in something that Jack had already worn.

By the end of the third week, their trap was set. Boredom, coupled with a healthy dose of fear, had lowered their spirits to the point where Ianto was now doling out a finger each of whisky each night, having opened two more bottles of Jack’s supply. He was glad that Jack ordered his whisky by the case - and that a shipment had just come in. He knew that Jack was drinking a little more each night than was usual, as he worked through the grief and guilt of losing Tosh, Owen and his psychotic brother.

\----------

They sat in the conference room, a veritable feast of dried rations spread before them. Neither of them ate, instead picking and poking through the debris in the hopes that something remotely edible might be found.

Ianto sighed. He hadn’t felt quite this despondent since Jack’s flight for the Doctor over a year earlier. His head told him to man up, that Jack had promised a speedy return as soon as he could, but his heart was slowly dying. Of course, that could also be attributed to the lack of sun and fresh air, as well as milk, fresh food and _Jack_. He was becoming maudlin.

“And I heard but did not understand and I said, ‘Master, what is the End of all these things?’” His voice was low, almost a whisper.

“Sorry, what?”

“From the book of Daniel. Refers to the End of Days. Seemed appropriate.”

“I didn’t know you were particularly religious, Ianto.” She seemed surprised, which wasn’t really that surprising at all. Gwen cared, but sometimes forgot to actually ask about the person she was caring about. Personal details often escaped her.

“I’m not - at least, not now. Sunday School, Gwen.”

“And you remember all that?”

He tapped the side of his head with a finger, wincing as he realised how long his hair was when the finger tangled in curls. “I know everything.”

In a bid to discourage any further questions, he spoke quickly, reaching across the table for the bottle of whisky that was waiting to be doled out that evening. He brandished it wildly, capturing her attention and hopefully pulling her mind away from his ability to remember things learned more than fifteen years ago.

“What we need here is a pick-me-up shot, or four. You in?”

She nodded enthusiastically. She really hadn’t been happy with his directive of one finger per night. This forced inactivity was murder on her nerves, which in turn was murder on Ianto’s. He decided that an evening ‘off’ would be just the thing to cheer them both up. What he didn’t count on, was Gwen’s dogmatic personality and her inability to let a subject go.

“Ianto - do you have a photographic memory?”

He looked at her, eyebrows raised incredulously. She was definitely like a dog with a bone. They had worked together for more than two years and NOW she wanted to know? He sighed in resignation and downed his shot. Taking one for the team, as it were. “Yep, although technically the term is eidetic.”

“Oh. So you really do know everything. You don’t forget.”

“If I read it or see it, then yeah. I remember most of what I’ve heard, as well. If I’ve never been presented with the information, then obviously, I’m not going to know it.”

“But there isn’t a lot you don’t know, is there?”

“Probably not. I used to read the Encyclopaedia when I was in school. I got bored easily. Probably why I ended up in trouble.”

“Trouble - with the police?”

“Yep. We might have met a lot sooner, PC Cooper, if things had been a little different.”

“Oh, surely not.”

Her disbelief in his ability to break the law was both gratifying and annoying. He had been a little bastard during his teenage years, with the drinking and thievery, for a start. Moreover, the work he did at Torchwood was less than legal on a daily basis - yet he accomplished it without blinking or breaking a sweat. He hacked computers, hid bodies, committed break-ins and was lethal with both a stun gun and bullets. He was hardly a paragon of clean living. Sometimes, PC Cooper lived in a bubble, of her own making.

Their little drinking session was broken by the sudden wailing of the Hub systems. It had been so long since either of them had heard any sound from outside their sphere of time-locked world, that it took a second for it to filter through. As soon as cognitive reasoning kicked in, they both jumped to their feet, racing to the door with fear and trepidation writ large across their faces. Neither had a weapon to hand - their side-arms were inconveniently sitting on their desks.

The sight that greeted them, however, negated the use or need for firepower. The Dalek, who had stood sentinel all these weeks, was no longer a threat. The top was smoking, evidence of an explosion from within. The many arms and weapons that had been pointed menacingly in their direction were now hanging impotently, looking for all the world as if a gentle push would make them fall off.

Standing just to one side was Jack. However, his Big Damn Hero grin was missing its usual flair. Instead, his face was morphing to one of shock and disbelief, as the gluey mess that Gwen and Ianto had rigged above the Dalek dripped from his head to cover one side of his body. They were happy that their trap had worked - the Dalek husk too showed signs of the sticky gloop dripping down the shell - but they had not planned to dunk their errant Boss.

They turned and looked at either, identical grins lighting up their faces. They were free, the time-lock was over and by the look of it, the Daleks destroyed. Whether or not Earth had been returned to its regular position in the Universe, they neither knew nor cared at that particular moment. They were just happy to know that the Apocalypse had somehow been averted. They could go outside - they could go _home_ , to their own beds and real food and fresh milk and fresh air. Also hangover meds.

Although, like Lucy, they also knew they had some ‘splainin’ to do.

End 


End file.
